


The Flower Of Love That Blooms In Space

by mostlyjustgoose



Category: Captain Harlock
Genre: Adventure & Romance, F/F, M/M, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-13 23:58:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7991083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlyjustgoose/pseuds/mostlyjustgoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t think they’re lying,” Tochiro insisted. “People can lie about all kinds of things, but not love. Nobody can lie about that. Not if they have a heart.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Flower Of Love That Blooms In Space

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by two episodes of Harlock '76, but set somewhere in the first half of Endless Orbit SSX.

It was Rebi who found the stowaways curled up together in the engine room: two women, neither much older than Kei, locked tight in each other’s arms and submerged in the sleep of the profoundly exhausted. They didn’t so much as stir at the clatter of footsteps on metal; if not for the slow rhythm of their quiet breathing, Harlock would have mistaken them for casualties of war found too late.

The strange thing, the thing that made the back of Harlock’s neck prickle with deep caution, was that one of the women had the unmistakable pale-green complexion of the Illumidas.

She was the one who woke first as he stood over them, blinking up at him with dark and bleary eyes. It occurred to Harlock in that moment that he’d never seen an Illumidas woman, on their ships or in any of their broadcasts--and that he’d never seen any Illumidas look as afraid as this one did. He kept his arms folded over his chest, purposefully, noting every time her gaze strayed to the hilt of his gravity saber.

“Your name?” he asked, though not harshly.

“Citrian.” The word was a whisper. Her arms tightened a little around her companion, who stirred and made a soft warm sound but didn’t wake.

“How long have you been aboard?”

“Less than a day. When you stopped to resupply on Brizou, we climbed into an empty crate, and…” She averted her gaze. “We’ve heard so much about the Arcadia, in every port we’ve been to. We knew it would be dangerous, but Arora said this ship was our best hope.”

At the sound of what Harlock guessed must be her name, the young woman stirred again, her body visibly beginning to struggle out of sleep. Citrian kissed her forehead, brushed her hair away from her drawn face.

Somewhere behind him, more footsteps approached, cautious. Harlock recognized La Mime’s long stride and Tochiro’s heavier, sharper steps.

“La Mime. Please fetch Kei and search these two, then escort them to one of the unoccupied cabins.”

“Aye, Captain.”

He turned to head back towards the bridge, wordlessly glad when Tochiro swayed to follow him.

 

*

 

They had one rusty knife between them--a cheap thing with a wobbly handle--and a small wad of bills and coins tucked into a pocket in Arora’s boot. Tochiro insisted that he take them their meal instead of letting Tadashi deliver it.

“The kid’ll throw a fit when he sees we’ve got an Illumidas aboard,” he said, hefting the tray of food. “Better let clearer heads deal with it for the moment, right?”

“Of course.” Harlock keyed in the code to the cabin door. It slid open with a soft whoosh.

Citrian and Arora had been sitting together on the low cot at the far end of the room; they both stood, quickly, as the Captain and his friend moved across the threshold. Now that he had a better opportunity to look her over, Harlock noticed that Citrian’s hair was far longer than he’d thought, pulled back in an elaborate but messy braid that fell nearly to her hips. To his surprise, she was also shorter than Arora--but though she had to look up, she made certain to look him in the eye.

“Good morning, ladies!” Tochiro grinned. “Breakfast, hot off the griddle. Well. Out of the soup pot. But it’s delicious! Nobody beats the Arcadia’s cook for a nice nourishing potato soup.”

“Thank you,” Arora said, though she didn’t move from Citrian’s side.

“Ahh, don’t worry, we’re not going to shackle you and throw you in the brig.” His tone stayed light and friendly as he moved to the table to set the tray down. “But if you’re going to be traveling with us for a little bit, we’d like to know what made you two come looking for the Arcadia.”

The silence stretched tight for several heartbeats. Harlock watched the muscles in Arora’s throat work as she struggled to summon up words.

“Thank you,” she managed, the hoarse edge of relief in her voice bleeding a measure of tension out of the room. Citrian stayed close to her, her gaze flicking from Harlock to Tochiro to the steaming bowls.

“So, you came aboard at Brizou,” Tochiro drawled thoughtfully. “That’s pretty far from any of the military outposts in the area. How’d you get there?”

“We had a small ship,” Arora replied. She nearly sank into her seat at the table; Harlock thought there might have been a slight tremor in her hands as they rested at the edge of the tray. “But it was being tracked, so we sold it to a junkyard and bribed the captain of a cargo ship to take us to the end of his route, on Brizou.”

“Tracked by whom?” Harlock asked. 

“My father.” Citrian’s hands curled into fists on her lap. “He doesn’t approve.”

Tochiro blinked. “Approve?”

“Of us.” 

In spite of the situation, Harlock found it difficult not to smile at the way Tochiro’s eyes widened behind his glasses.

“We met a year ago.” Warmth crept into Arora’s voice as she spoke. “I was with a group of other Earthlings--we would go to the poorer Solar Federation colonies and help repair their farm equipment. Sometimes we’d teach classes in how to convert the parts from wrecked ships into machines they could use to filter water or plow fields. It wasn’t exactly legal, but the military ignored us as long as we kept a low profile.”

“There’s an Illumidas research station on Paraiba.” Citrian reached for Arora’s hand; their fingers twined together easily. “Agricultural science--we wanted to know what makes Earth crops so hardy outside of their natural habitat. I was observing the local farmers from what I thought was a safe distance, but… Arora noticed me. I thought she was going to shoot me, or tell her friends I was a spy. But she said hello, and we started talking.”

In the darkness where Harlock’s right eye had once been, he could almost see a long green field, and a river shining as the rivers on Earth had a thousand years ago. A sun he only imagined cast a steady glow on the couple, even while the window behind them offered a view of the endless night of space.

“We met every day. I’d never been so happy.” Something was strange about Citrian’s face; it took Harlock a moment to realize that she was blushing.

“There were a couple of churches around the farms we were working at,” Arora said. “We--we were talking about going to one of them, seeing if we could find a minister who was willing to marry us. We wanted to start our own farm, one where we could live freely. Where no one would look at either of us and see their enemy.”

Tochiro sniffled loudly. Harlock didn’t need to look to know tears were trickling under the rims of his glasses.

“Then, a month ago…” Citrian’s eyes narrowed. “My father decided to pay a surprise visit to the research station. He never liked that I worked for a living--back home, women are supposed to be the guardians of beauty and the arts, not scientists or soldiers. Someone at the station must have told him how much time I was spending in the field. When he found out why, he tried to have Arora killed.”

“How cruel,” Tochiro murmured.

“We stole a shuttle and ran. So we could find a place to be married, and live together in peace.” Arora squeezed Citrian’s hand. “But her father wouldn’t let us be. He’s been following us the whole time, no matter where we go.”

“He doesn’t think Earthlings can love.” Bitterness made Citrian’s words thick. “He thinks they’re just… animals. He always has. I’ve tried to tell him he was wrong, even before this, but he never listened.” She looked up at Harlock, sharply, the light winking off of a small sequined ribbon woven into her braid. “No matter what he tries, no matter how far he chases us, I won’t let him hurt Arora. I won’t let anyone hurt my love.”

_ Not even you, _ her eyes said, but the anger was hurt and desperate.

 

*

 

“Do you believe them, Captain?”

Harlock leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming slowly against the handle of the knife they’d taken from their new passengers.

“I don’t know.” He glanced over at La Mime. Her eyebrows had drawn down low over her soft blank eyes. “We’ve dealt with spies before, but none with a story like this. Kei, have you found anything in the official news transmissions that might confirm it?”

“There is an Illumidas research station on Paraiba, but that’s as much as I can say for sure.” She fidgeted, clearly uneasy. “If it’s true, we should find a planet to put them ashore in free territory. They shouldn’t have to keep running.”

“I don’t think they’re lying,” Tochiro insisted. “People can lie about all kinds of things, but not love. Nobody can lie about that. Not if they have a heart.”

“But, Tochiro-san--”

The point of red light glinting off the knife’s dull blade registered half a second before Harlock heard the alert. Kei and La Mime bolted for their stations; Harlock’s spine straightened.

“Enemy battleship approaching, bearing 47 degrees!” 

He stood quickly, ignoring the shower of feathers as Bird flapped from the back of his chair to perch on his shoulder. “Initiate defense screen.”

“Captain!” Kei’s shout rose over the noise of the Arcadia readying for action. “They’re signaling us!”

“Open the channel.”

The main screen flickered, a snow of static resolving quickly into the stern face of an Illumidas officer.

“This is Commander Idocrase of the Illumidas Occupation Forces. We have received word that you are harboring a dangerous fugitive and her hostage. Surrender them immediately and we will permit you to leave this system unharmed.”

“This is a pirate ship, Commander.” Harlock’s voice was steady. “Our entire crew is made up of fugitives. But everyone is here of their own free will--there are no hostages aboard the Arcadia.”

Idocrase’s face darkened. “I know you have the criminal Arora aboard, along with the scientist she kidnapped.”

It took Harlock a moment to realize that there was a low whine in the background of the transmission. He knew that sound: energy cannons charging. 

“As I said, everyone is here of their own free will,” he began, but rage had already twisted the thin line of Idocrase’s mouth.

“Captain Harlock, I will not tolerate this stubbornness. I know my daughter is aboard your ship, along with the monster who took her. If you don’t turn them over to us within the next ten minutes, I’ll blast open the Arcadia and find them myself!”

Someone’s hand was on his arm, a brief touch that fortified him.

“Monster, huh? Funny, we don’t have any of those aboard.” Tochiro sounded almost smug. “Unless you count Mr. Bird over there, but he’s only a monster when he gets into the booze.”

Harlock could almost hear Idocrase grinding his teeth.

“I have neither time nor patience for games. Ensign, fire the warning volley.”

With a few quick strides Harlock moved to his place behind the ship’s wheel, moving effortlessly through the sudden chaos of his crew scrambling to prepare for battle. A heartbeat later he felt the Arcadia tremble under the soles of his boots--a quick burst of shots slammed into the defensive screen along her port side, sending a shudder through the ship without damaging her. 

“Nine minutes,” Idocrase barked. 

“Defensive screen holding. Cannons ready.” Kei’s hands curled tight around the corners of the console. “Standing by for orders, Captain.”

“Hold your fire.” He breathed deeply, watching the screen. The afterimage of a sequined ribbon caught in Citrian’s dark braid flashed across his mind, there and gone. “You’ve gone to a great deal of effort to track a single human with a single crime on her record, Commander.”

“A single crime?” The strangled sound Idocrase made was a parody of a laugh. “She’s trying to corrupt an Illumidas citizen, to twist her to your outdated Earthling ideals.”

“Thought you said she was kidnapped,” Tochiro muttered, but Idocrase ignored him.

“We cannot tolerate troublemakers who stir up this kind of unrest. It’s no better than outright treason. If you won’t hand her over, I’ll be happy to make an example of you both, to the entire empire--”

“Father!”

Almost as one, the crew turned. For a split second Harlock was the only one still watching the transmission. He was the only one who saw the flicker of relief on Idocrase’s face--a relief that highlighted the resemblance between father and daughter.

Citrian stood wide-eyed near the main entry to the bridge, with Arora barely a half step behind her. 

“How?” she demanded. Her voice shook, but Harlock heard more anger in it than fear. “How did you find us?”

“It doesn’t matter, Citrian. You’ll be safe now.” Idocrase turned to address someone offscreen. “Ensign, ready a shuttle. Arcadia, prepare to receive a boarding party--”

Harlock watched the revelation play out across Citrian’s face as her father spoke. Her eyes widened, and even at a distance he could see the tears begin to well up.

“You tricked me.”

It was little more than a whisper, but it cut through every sound around them. Even Idocrase stopped, caught off-balance.

“I only brought one thing from Paraiba,” she said. Her voice crackled, as if the emotion under it were a current of pure electricity. “I wanted to have one memory of my family to take with me, even if they didn’t want me to go. I wanted to be able to look back at the last birthday gift my father gave me and think of the good things about my home. But you tricked me.”

She reached up and back, yanked the ribbon out of her hair. The long braid seemed to come unraveled all at once, a haphazard spill of darkness over her shoulders. She looked very young, suddenly.

“Citrian.” Idocrase spoke her name as if he were giving an order. “It’s over, now. That Earthling will be brought to justice for her theft and manipulation--”

“No.”

“For generations our family has served our empire!” The anger was back in full force. “I’ve tolerated this phase of yours, this fascination with inferior creatures, long enough. But you’ve taken it too far, and it’s time to stop. You are destined for far better things than scrabbling in the dirt with these… these insects. You are an Illumidas.”

The ribbon fell from Citrian’s fingers. For a moment she stood with her head bowed, hair hiding her face, shoulders hunched forward. Arora, still half a step behind her, had begun to tremble--she was weeping, silently, her expression one of naked anguish.

“Is that what it means to be an Illumidas?” Citrian asked. “Looking down on everyone? Deciding that the way things have always been is the way they’re always meant to be?”

“Citrian--”

“I can’t be like that.” She looked up. Though tears still tracked down her pale green cheeks, she looked resolute, determined. Harlock had seen too many soldiers look their own deaths in the eye with faces set like hers. “I’ve seen how hard Earthlings work together, how they help one another during storms. I’ve seen them be kind to one another even when things seem too difficult to overcome. And every day since we left Paraiba, I’ve woken up knowing that the best and the kindest of them loves me.”

_ People can lie about all kinds of things, but not love. _

“Because she does. I know she loves me. And I love her, with all my heart.”

_ Nobody can lie about that. Not if they have a heart. _

“I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I want to grow old by her side. I want us to support each other, always, no matter what happens.”

Decisively, swiftly, Citrian brought one heel down on the ribbon. Something cracked; a few weak sparks leaped up around her foot and were gone in an instant. The forward movement seemed to ignite an energy in her that propelled her towards the captain’s chair. Tochiro’s grip on Harlock’s arm tightened as she picked up the knife.

“But if being an Illumidas means giving up Arora, then I won’t be one!”

With one hand she grabbed the heavy mass of her own hair, pulling it over her shoulder. Rusted as it was, the blade was still sharp. It made a terrible sound when she raked it through the remains of her braid, tearing her hair unevenly in a long, savage slice. Dark strands coiled at her feet like so many dead vines.

Idocrase tried to speak, and choked.

As the last of her hair fell away, she let the knife drop as well. It skittered away somewhere Harlock couldn’t see.

“I am no longer Citrian of the Illumidas.” Her voice was low and rough, but there was conviction in it. “I am Citrian, who loves Arora. And I have no father.”

Idocrase’s mouth worked, soundlessly, rage and disbelief distorting his face. When he finally managed a word, the sound of it popped weakly in the air, a soap bubble bursting under its own thin weight.

“Traitor--!”

“Cut the transmission,” Harlock ordered. “All hands, prepare for battle.”

The image on the screen blinked out. Citrian swayed on her feet, and Arora ran to catch her up in her arms, pulling her close.

“Oh, my love.” She buried her face in Citrian’s shoulder. “My love. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did.” Citrian sagged against her. “Of course I did. I love you.”

The bird on Harlock’s shoulder warbled softly as he turned to face the couple.

“You shouldn’t be on the bridge during combat. I’ll have one of the crew escort you back to your cabin right away.” He paused, seeing them once again in the lost glow of Earth’s past, small and shaken but suffused with light. “However.”

Both women looked up at him, blinking away tears.

“You said earlier that you were looking for a minister to marry you. Would you give a ship’s captain the honor of doing it instead?”

It took them a moment to realize what he was offering. For the first time, he saw them both smile, the same brilliant blossom of joy over two different faces.

“Yes.” Arora wiped at her wet cheeks. “Yes, that--that would be wonderful.”

“Good. We’ll talk when this is over.”

Harlock began to turn back towards the rest of his crew, but Citrian caught at the edge of his cape, quick and insistent.

“The shields on that ship have a blind spot under the starboard engine,” she said. “I heard him complaining about it before we left Paraiba.”

“Understood.” He reached out to clasp her thin shoulder, briefly. It was as warm as any human’s. “Now go.”

Still leaning on each other, they began to make their way out of the bridge. The ship trembled again, this time in short strong bursts--torpedoes, probably. Harlock moved to grip the wheel with both hands.

“La Mime. Bring us about fifteen degrees. I want a good clear shot at that starboard engine.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Harlock felt the absence of Tochiro’s warmth at his side when his friend moved towards his gunner’s station. But he also felt the press of that familiar hand on his arm long after it had gone, gentle and unwavering, oxygen for the fire in his heart.

 

*

 

The battle didn’t last long. A handful of well-placed shots from the Arcadia’s cannons tore a smoking hole in the underside of Idocrase’s ship, leaving it with only one functional engine and a leaking fuel tank. Once he was satisfied they couldn’t pursue him at more than a limp, he ordered La Mime to alter the ship’s course, heading for the Endless Track where the SSX fortress moved through its perpetual orbit. 

It was all clear sailing once they’d left the crippled battleship behind. Harlock decided to take advantage of the quiet to retire to his cabin for a glass of wine and an hour of solitude, to reorder his thoughts.

He should have guessed that Tochiro wouldn’t let him drink alone.

Barely halfway through his first glass, he heard the handle of his cabin door rattle. Tochiro rarely knocked, but Harlock rarely complained. 

“So I just got done talking to an old army buddy of mine,” he announced, kicking the door shut on his way over to Harlock’s desk. “Great gunner, lousy at card games. After she was discharged she joined a free colony, out past the northwestern edge of the Track. She says they need farmers, and they’re willing to give new residents a parcel of land to work, no questions asked.”

“A place where they can live freely.” Harlock leaned back in his chair, slowly working his gloves off. “Do you think it’ll be safe for them?”

“Yeah. After all, there’s thousands of colonies out there, and the fleet can’t afford to drop everything and pick through them all.” A sly grin stretched across Tochiro’s face. “Especially when they’ve got a fearsome crew of space pirates to worry about.”

“How far is the colony from the Track?”

“We can have them planetside in two days if we keep up our current speed once we leave SSX.” His grin widened. “Not much of a honeymoon, but I guess that just means we have to make the wedding really memorable.”

Harlock nodded, but didn’t answer. He could see Tochiro’s reflection in his wine glass, could see that Tochiro was looking at him, but there was a question lodged in his throat that made his head too heavy to turn.

“Hey. You okay?”

“Tochiro.” He closed his eye for a moment, the scattered lights of distant stars replaced with the memory of sun filtering through green leaves. “What that girl did today.”

He had no right to ask this question, he knew. Yet it rose up and up, scalding the inside of his mouth, making his tongue thick and dry.

“Has there ever been…” No. Harlock swallowed. “Have you ever… felt…”

Tochiro’s hand, warm and steady under his chin, was a mercy that stilled the swirl of his thoughts.

“I have,” he said quietly. “I do. And it’s why I couldn’t let anyone else captain the Arcadia.”

Harlock leaned into him, blindly, and when Tochiro’s mouth closed over his own the terrifying, dizzying lift in his marrow spread into a heat that flooded his whole body. It was as if he could feel each one of the stars beyond his window, their distant pinpoint lights settling in his skin to fill him with light and air.

The wine glass tipped over, knocked askew by Harlock’s elbow when he moved to pull Tochiro closer. Neither of them noticed.

 

*

 

Citrian and Arora were asleep when the ship docked; Tochiro insisted everyone leave them alone till they emerged from the cabin on their own. The delay gave Harlock the opportunity to comb through the library Emeraldas had installed in search of some kind of vows he could repurpose. He’d been present for a military wedding, not long after he’d first signed up, but he’d also had a lot less tolerance for wine at the time and could only remember the drinking contest he lost to the groom afterwards.

In the end he decided he could probably improvise something appropriate. It didn’t seem quite right for a pirate captain to be too formal with the ceremony.

When he emerged from the library, he noticed that the crew members who’d already disembarked were all clustered around the ramp that led back up into the Arcadia. As he got closer he could hear a voice speaking: Kei’s, high and clear and kind.

“...know how much you had to give up, when you ran away. It’s the least we can do.”

“Kei.” At the sound of their captain’s voice, the crowd parted for him, making a loose half-circle. Arora and Citrian stood in the center, with Kei and La Mime flanking them, their backs turned to him. “What’s going on?”

Kei turned, and he understood immediately.

She was holding a sundress patterned with green and blue leaves, one he vaguely remembered Tochiro teasing her about having bought at some port a few months earlier. La Mime turned to him as well, and he saw a spill of soft purple fabric draped over her arm.

“Captain. On the bridge, earlier, we…” Kei reddened slightly. “I mean, I overheard you saying you could marry them.”

“We thought we could help give them a proper wedding,” La Mime cut in. The light over her heart flickered, a tiny moon against the starless sky of her breast. “What these two have done deserves as much of a celebration as we can provide.”

Harlock felt something warm twine itself into his ribs, settle into his breathing and begin to become a part of him. Before he could speak, another crewman stepped forward--one of the mechanics responsible for engine maintenance, Harlock knew, though he couldn’t summon up the man’s name.

“I brought these with me from Earth. They were my wife’s, and we hoped to give them to our daughter, but…” He held out one hand, palm up, and gold flashed. “When I came aboard, I was keeping these to remind me of how much I wanted revenge for their deaths. Of what I was fighting for. But I think… it would have made them happier, to pass these rings on to you two.”

“A couple of us, um…” This time it was one of the gunners who spoke up, his voice gruff but his ears bright red. He had his hands awkwardly behind his back, like a child concealing forbidden sweets, but after another moment of hemming and hawing he produced a bunch of brightly colored paper flowers. “We went through our comic books and magazines. Tried to find some perfume to put in ‘em for you, but, well. All we had was soap.”

“But we folded ‘em real pretty,” someone piped up, defensively.

“Grandpa said Miss Citrian lost a ribbon.” Rebi beamed up at them, her little face shining with pride. “You can wear my lucky one. See the red flowers? Those are to bring you good fortune. And if your hair’s too short for it now, you can tie it around your wrist as a bracelet.”

“I made a cake.” Tadashi sounded almost embarrassed. “I had to use canned fruit, and the icing didn’t turn out so smooth, but there’s enough for everybody.”

For the first time, Harlock looked over at Arora and Citrian. They were leaning on one another again, hands clasped, a startled joy in their eyes. The image etched itself onto his heart, a precious glimpse of something he had never expected could exist.

“Captain Harlock.” Citrian’s voice shook. “We can never thank you enough. This is…”

She had to stop, overcome; Arora stroked her wild cropped hair. 

_ It’s why I couldn’t let anyone else captain the Arcadia. _

“This is how pirates honor those who have fought valiantly for what they believe in.” He was surprised to realize that he smiled as he said it. “You have both been extraordinarily brave and sacrificed a great deal, because you believed in one another. That deserves recognition, no less than courage in combat.”

“Thank you,” Arora whispered, and he had never been so proud to hear the words.

“Kei, La Mime, please help the brides get ready.” He wasn’t at all sure what that entailed, other than a change of clothes, but then it wasn’t exactly his business to know. “The rest of you, set up your decorations and gifts on the lawn outside of the main library.”

A ragged cheer went up. Almost as one, the crew swept forward, a cacophony of laughter and singing and whooping that buoyed him. He let them flow haphazardly around him, past him, still smiling as he watched them tumble over themselves to start squabbling over who was going to do what for the party.

“Boy, will they be surprised when they find out about the farm.”

He didn’t know how long Tochiro had been beside him, but it hardly mattered. 

“We’ll let them know after the ceremony.” Harlock looked down, his smile turning fond. “First, though, I should see if I’ve still got a bottle of champagne aboard that the bird hasn’t gotten into.”

“Champagne? Ah, I knew you were holding out on me.” Tochiro laughed. “You know if you put a little hot sauce on the neck of the bottle he’ll leave them alone.”

“I don’t like hot sauce in my wine.”

“Picky, picky.” He stretched. “Anyway, I’d better go help out the others. Don’t make a mess looking for the good stuff, all right?”

“I won’t.”

Tochiro turned to go, and the warmth in Harlock’s chest surged, a wave cresting.

“Wait.”

“Hmm?” His expression instantly turned to one of concern. “What’s up?”

“I…”

He breathed in deep. The golden summer light of Earth’s youth glanced off Tochiro’s glasses, tangled in his mussed hair.

“I have,” Harlock said. “I do.”

Though they didn’t touch, he could have sworn he felt Tochiro’s heart beating against his own, swift and steady, an anchor in the short silence that followed.

“I know.” The words were spoken lightly, but Harlock saw something wet glitter under the rims of his glasses. “Now get going, you know how this lot gets when they wait too long for booze.”

Harlock began to ascend the ramp, his steps purposeful. Far above him, the stars drifted along their slow paths through the universe, countless shining points of hope.

**Author's Note:**

> I set out to write something action-adventure-y about Harlock and Tochiro helping out some space runaways, but a weird thing happened in the process: I ended up writing a story that my scared younger self would have loved. Being a gay teenager in the '90s sucked super hard, and even though I was desperate for sweeping romantic sci-fi or fantasy f/f I felt ashamed of myself for wanting it. That shame lasted way too long, but now, I hope, I can start making up for lost time.
> 
> Enormous props to ka_tsu_ra for introducing me to Leijiverse, and labichelamerure (and ka_tsu_ra again) for encouraging me to embrace my gay melodrama brand.


End file.
